Tipping the Scales
by HetalianTillDeath666
Summary: Ivan Braginsky cannot lose weight to save himself. It interferes with his plans to date his best friend and confidant, Wang Yao. Out of frustration, he binge eats one night to find that the scales of fate have tipped in his favor. This is manifested by Wang Yao asking him out. Turns out, the name of the game is not losing anything at all. It's about gaining everything. Weight Gain.


One hundred and ninety. One hundred and ninety pounds exactly. Ivan does not even get the opportunity to round up or down. The Russian's violet colored eyes looked over that digital scale reading as his usual calm smile turned into a glare dripping in pure annoyance. The combination of those three numbers were like a train wreck, so terrible that Ivan wanted to turn away yet he could not stop looking and analyzing this disaster of a weight measurement. This painful truth stares back at him as clear as the morning sky. He is overweight, and now he cannot deny it.

Ivan's glare perks up into a half-smile of worry."Maybe it is just a mistake? One more time will confirm it for sure!" Ivan says trying to assuage his own worry, frustration, and depression. Ivan let the digital scale of metal and plastic zero out completely, and he casually looked around his bathroom as his scale ticked down. Never in his life has Ivan been so happy to be all alone. The Russian blushes in embarrassment at the thought of anyone else knowing about this unique problem of his.

Ivan demanded a private bathroom so this embarrassing process of weighing himself could be done without having to go downstairs into the guest bathroom. God forbid if anyone ever sees him this pathetic looking on a daily basis. Hell, what if he broke the scale one day? Bad thoughts start to squirm into Ivan's head as he starts pleading with an inanimate object for some shred of hope. It could be false reading. The Russian remembers to count down before trying to weigh himself again. One, two, three, four.

He keeps counting on, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten. Ivan then sees the reading as a perfect zero. Ivan assumes that maybe it is this particular place of the floor that is making that reading incorrect. So, to make everything just right, Ivan kneels to the floor and using both hands gingerly moves the scale around an inch or more to the right. If that fixed it, he's a genius.

"There!" Ivan says to himself, quite proud of his attempts at correcting the scale reading, "Now it has to be totally accurate and not as bad as I assume." A tiny portion of his regular calm smile returns to his face.

Ivan is still hesitant as always, but takes a deep breath and stands up again. Ivan steps on to the scale in a fearful methodical way, taking his sweet time with looking at the results too. Not that they would be the same, after all he did everything possible to make the reading more understandable. However, there is always a chance that he could be wrong and the reading would be exactly the same. That is what the Russian feared the most.

Ivan's weight is a sensitive, embarrassing and frustrating subject. It has been a problem since he was a child back in motherland of Russia. Ivan has never really been sleek, thin, or any variation of slim. The Russian knows if you were you would have most likely never made it through a single winter back home. Ivan is not living in Russia with his sisters anymore. Ivan thought he would lose the weight like shedding a winter coat of sorts. Especially once he immigrated to America with his sisters Sofia and Natasha. However, like many things in Ivan's life, it does not go his way.

His sisters Sofia and Natasha know for a fact that they should not bring up the topic, even little sister Natasha. Natasha could scare anyone and anything into submission, but even she is no so cruel as to mention it. A majority of the people The Russian hangs out with knows they should not talk about his weight. Only one thorn in his side mentions anything of it, and his name is Alfred F. Jones. That bastard of an American always brings up anything and everything to upset Ivan Braginsky. But maybe one day the tables would turn is favor.

There is always some sort of hope. Ivan looks downward towards the scale yet again. This is it. According to this scale measurement Ivan is officially, wait, that cannot be right! The display reads a grim reading: Two. Hundred. more pounds than the last total. All of his adjustments were for naught. In fact, he made it worse to the point he no longer weighted one hundred anything!

Ivan looks up straight at the ceiling, wondering what in the world he has done to deserve such a fate. Should he curse out the world in Russian or English this time? Perhaps something a little more exotic.

"This is just fine." It was the opposite of fine. It is borderline heartbreaking to Ivan. "It isn't even anything important, they are just stupid, little, pathetic, numbers. Stupid. Little. Extremely. Pathetic. Numbers." Ivan grits his teeth. This situation is anything but fine.

The Russian steps off the scale an angry, bitter and defeated human being. At first, Ivan planned to simply walk away. Just to go back to bed and forget this even happened. Yet, he does not want anyone to know he was weighing himself, they might think something bad about him. Ivan wants to just put away the scale like the cursed object it is, hiding it away were he cannot find it again. Ivan has too thin of patience to do that this time.

Thus he begins smashing the annoying thing that has caused so much suffering for him against the hard floor of his personal bathroom. Ivan just keeps on slaming the thing on the floor until little things like springs and tiny screws started coming out of the digital scale like confetti pieces.

Ivan's emotions mounts each time he hears the combination of metal and plastic hit the floor below him. "Why. Will. You. Not. Work!" With each word, the force becomes more greater than before. "I'm. Done. With. You. Fucking. Stupid. Thing!" Finally it was done. There is nothing left of what was once a scale except for broken parts and metal scraps. Ivan catches his breath after the savage attack on the object.

He is simply too frustrated for anymore words or beatings to give the scale. The Russian just stands up, points to the scale and mutters something that means something close to "I'll deal with you later." in his mother tongue, and walks far away from the pile of messed up metal and plastic that he will clean up at a later date in time. Ivan leaves his private bathroom and shuts the wooden door firmly behind him so no one will see the disaster he has created out of his personal temper tantrum.

The Russian's normal, calm and happy demeanor is replaced with depression as the seething anger he once felt is properly expressed. Now there is nothing left but to go back to bed and pray that it will get better. Ivan walks down the hallway back to his bedroom to just fall back asleep.

Ivan has to strategize again to shed fifty or more pounds. "No breakfast for me, yet again." He continues to think aloud "I will have to compensate even more so to lose the extra weight. Maybe a lighter lunch too? Can dinner be optional? God, I don't know how the hell to do this anymore whole diet thing anymore!"

Then, a strange idea hit him like a brick to the back of his skull. Maybe he is approaching this diet thing the wrong way entirely. Maybe he could have a morsel of breakfast and still survive until tomorrow's weigh in. Surely a morsel would not hurt anything, nope. Ivan is convinced, and so is his stomach by the sound of a small growl. "Isn't breakfast suppose to be good for you anyways, I mean compared to other time of the day? It'll be fine." He says to convince himself.

Instead of his usual bed routine, the Russian decides to make the trek downstairs from his usual domain for a tiny breakfast. No one was here yet, no one would know! "Is it pathetic that I'm happy about this?" Ivan asked himself as he snuck down the stairs, quiet as he could be. Ivan then moved past the main door and living room, noticing that his sister had been here by spread out playing cards on the coffee table. For some odd reason Natasha always makes Toris play card games with her even though she hates Toris with a passion.

He moved on past the evidence and moved straight into his kitchen, but as fate would have it, Ivan was not alone. Natasha is already there, eating breakfast herself. But he locked the door? Ivan knew for a fact that he locked his doors last night.

"N-Natasha?" Ivan asks the intimidating little sister of his. "How did you get back in?"

"You left the windows unlocked. You should be more careful big brother, I could have stolen something." Natasha says like it was normal to simply climb into someone's basement windows, go to their kitchen and eat their food. "You cannot be too careful in these American neighborhoods."

"Where is big sister?" Ivan softly asks his little sister. Natasha takes what appears to be an apple out of the fruit bowl in Ivan's kitchen. She manages to take a pocket knife of hers and starts caring out pieces for her to eat.

"Still asleep at our stupid apartment. Sofia will be here with Toris and Toris is coming in about an hour according to his polish friend. I know how you enjoy company so I arranged for company. I called Edward and Ravis too, but they are busy apparently." Natasha pops a slice of apple into her mouth, chewing on it.

"You actually called? I thought Toris stopped taking your calls?" Ivan said. No one responds when Natasha calls. It would be like answering the call of death itself.

"I might have also broken into their apartments as well. No one responds to my group texts or calls, as you know." Natasha pops another slice into her mouth. "Dumb idiots, all of them." She says still chewing. "I hated the women in Russia, but at least they had more gall then these friends you hang out with."

"They don't even want to be my friends that badly." Ivan reminds Natasha.

"Exactly my point!" She says literally pointing the sharp blade of her knife toward her brother. Ivan flinches and covers his face, but opens up his fingers to see what Natasha is actually doing.

"You, Ivan Braginsky, need better friends." Natasha says, now stabbing the knife into the other half of the fruit. "If they didn't want to be your friends they should just say that instead of sleeping in, hoping that I'll trip those dumb alarm systems."

"How do you do that anyways?" Ivan asks, partly to arm himself, partially out of curiosity. Natasha could break into anywhere at anytime, even as kids.

"I have my ways." Is all Natasha would say. "Do you want anything while I'm over here big brother? I should not be the only one eating breakfast in this place."

"Just an apple, if you would." The Russian humors his sister's suggestion. He was down here to eat before he saw Natasha.

Natasha rolls another apple over to her brother on the slick counter top she was leaning against. Ivan easily takes the apple from the counter and bites into it. It's sweet, but slightly tart in a way.

"What dumb diet are you on this week that you get to eat breakfast?" Natasha asks, knowing her brother's odd habits. "Usually you'd be back in bed by now."

Ivan just sighs a bit to his sister, "I don't really know anymore myself."

"Good. Those diets didn't work out anyways for you. Besides I heard you beating the ever-living crap out of that scale. That was pretty awesome of you."

Ivan drops the fruit he was eating and freezes in place with a deep rooted embarrassment. Natasha. Heard. Everything. Natasha heard him curse the heavens in his mind, destroy a scale, talk himself into eating again and knows his current weight. Fantastic. Just want Ivan needed to know today. That he was indeed, pathetic as all get out.

Natasha just rolls her eyes. "Well, no duh. Your bathroom is right above the kitchen and above the basement. I heard everything, but I'm surprised you did not curse it out in Russian. I've never heard you get so mad at something that you smashed it into oblivion before. It was, as the Americans would say, sick. That means good."

"You don't think it's pathetic do you?" Ivan might be scared of Natasha but all of a sudden really cares about what his little sister thinks of him. After all she's always adored him, whether he liked the attention or not. "The way I work on my weight all the time?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, but nods her head back and forth signaling a firm no in her strong opinion. "I do not think you are pathetic. I think the way you eat is pathetic. I mean, come on big brother. One donut is not going to kill you. I'm a woman and I don't even care that much about my weight." She finishes with an emphasis on the word woman.

"You've always been a normal weight though Natasha." Ivan states the obvious. Natasha has always been the same weight her whole life, heck Ivan has seen her lose weight in terrible times.

"That is simply a bad dealing of the cards of fate when it comes to your size."

"What do you think I should do then?"

"I say, to hell with diets!" Natasha say raising up her arms like a passionate speaker of revolution. Clearly, she has been waiting to say that to her brother for a long time. "Screw your girly perceptions of weight!"

Natasha continues with zest, "Eat what you want as much as you want. If that dumb Alfred or whatever the hell his name is wants to insult you, punch him in the teeth! Make that guy bleed until he wishes he were you! Be a man!"

Ivan actually considers Natasha's half rant and half zesty speech on how her fantastic older brother should be. If Natasha still love him like an older brother, if Sofia still takes care of him like a younger brother and the three of them face the world together, really what difference would the weight make? Sure, maybe he does not have a lot of friends of even the boyfriend he wants so badly, but maybe he would still have family.

No matter which path he chose, the extra pounds would still bother him to death. Ivan wants what ever person unintentionally wants: to be normal human being.

"I wish I could Natasha but I cannot." Ivan sticks to his original ideals despite his sister's encouragement to go off the diets for good.

Natasha's zeal and zest cannot be stopped that easily. "Look, big brother, I know you want someone to be disgustingly affectionate with, but would you really be happy that way? If you were stuck in this pattern of yo-yo diets for the rest of your life? I do not think so!"

"Besides! You have that silly best friend of yours! What more in life could you ask for?" Natasha asks her older brother in a voice that makes him think.

"If you'll get out of my house I'll tell you. I mean that you actually leave through the front door this time. Not a window or anything like that." Ivan is tired of dealing with his little sister's insanity for the day.

Natasha thinks about the agreement for a moment. "Sure. Whatever! Tell me everything."

"As you know probably already know, I'm single and I do have my sights on someone I just–"

"You're going to wait until you lose the weight and then ask out you best friend. No duh. I could have told you that."

"Can you read minds?" Ivan is shocked on how accurate his little sister is about his plans.

"No. You are simply predictable." Natasha says, now messing around with her sharp pocket knife as she talked. "Ask him out now. Stop wasting your time."

"Not when I've gained more than ten pounds Natasha! This is the worst time possible! In the history of worse times, I mean what will he think of me? I don't want to ruin my friendship and future relationship."

"Ugh, whatever you big baby. I'll call the others and tell them to screw off and give you day alone. Think about what I said." Natasha says putting away her knife into her apron pocket of her outfit. Natasha throws the rest of the fruit she was eating into the trash bin nearest to her. Like her brother requested, she leaves the kitchen, goes around and leave out the front door, but not until giving a grim warning while leaving. "I'm telling you, soon none of this diet garbage will matter!"

Natasha slams the heavy front door closed behind herself. Once Ivan hears her footsteps go off the front steps in her heels, the Russian can breathe again.

"Why don't I have normal sisters?" Is all Ivan could say as he clicked off the light in the kitchen and proceeded to make his way back up stairs. "At least no one else has to see me like this." Ivan says, in a miniature test of fate.

* * *

To every annoying pound that never got lost. To every frustrating weigh in that caused nothing but sorrow. To every silly exercise that caused pain later. To every damn remark ever made about his weight that cut to his core. Tonight they would all be cast aside in favor for something more practical and consistent: Ivan's deep seeded appetite. The Russian is tired of the frustration, the pain and the sorrow so for one night, and one night only, Ivan will do the impossible. Ivan will go off his diet, and eat whatever he wants, as much as he wants. Just like Natasha said he should. Fuck diets. Fuck everything.

The Russian was a defeated man who was not in the mood to starve all night, take tiny bites, or hell even go back to bed. As often he does, he takes a bottle of vodka from the liquor stash in his modest kitchen, and made his way towards the refrigerator. However, nothing looked even mildly good until his violet eyes came upon a cake on the last shelf and the damned appliance. A chocolate cake from big sister that he insisted upon never eating. Now it was time.

At first Ivan was hesitant, he thought maybe he should call it a night, but after the hellish morning he went through, the Russian couldn't care less. Ivan carefully took the entire cake, laid it on the nearest kitchen counter, and began to look for a fork while his stomach growled so hard it sounded like it was eating itself.

"You know what, fuck that." Ivan said, closing the silverware drawer hard in mounting anger. "It's my goddamn house I can eat this cake with my fucking hands and nothing is going to stop me!"

At first it was gross eating an entire cake with just one's hand but Ivan Branisky pulled through and had his first huge chunk of a bite into the moist cake and smooth buttercream frosting. It was heaven. No! It was the sweetest pit of hell and he didn't care where he was going to! Ivan started eating it with gusto with that thought in his head. One after another of his hands he started just shoveling the cake into his mouth as fast as he could. Not caring about how delicious the cake is, but more about the quantity of how much cake he could devour within a short time range. Ivan braginsky has been starving himself for years. It's time for a change.

One could hear him enjoy every single morsel of that cake, but mostly just the sounds of him chewing and swallowing the cake as fast as he could get it near his mouth. But some moans of joy due to the sweetness of the buttercream hitting his tongue and slipping down his throat. The short, heavy breaths between large, chunks of bites.

Every bit of anger? Cake. Every bit of happiness? Cake. Every insult? Cake. Fuck the world. Eat cake.

The Russian stopped caring about the dumb diets and everything else that has failed him. Right now all he could think about is the soft, deliciously moist cake he was tearing into like a vulture to a fresh caracas. Ivan slowes downs eventually as he approaches the second half of the cake. Maybe this was way too much for him to start with. But you cannot keep a Russian down for long. Ivan stops, takes a huge swig of vodka and starts up again.

It did not matter that he would be sick the next day from stuffing his face this badly. He just wanted to feel full for once in his life, not starving. Not picking at food he could never have. Ivan has had enough! The rest of the cake was finished, and as Ivan picked clean every morsel on the plate he felt zero regrets.

However, once Ivan did finish off the cake, licking the frosting off his fingers and another more negative feeling started to creep in: stomach pains. Intense stomach pains. Ivan nearly keeled over right there from the pain he felt in his midsection after gorging himself on that amazing cake. Vodka would help ease the feeling of pain at least, so he started downing the bottle like water.

The piercing pains brought another unfamiliar feeling. One that Ivan really has never felt in this particular situation before, because up until this point he would have stopped eating after a couple of bites. Now? Now he wanted even more than a megar cake. He wanted sweet foods, salty foods, heck all food at this point. Thus, the cupboards were raided as well. Every morsel of anything was taken from its home and hopelessly devoured by Ivan. All of a sudden these sharp pains? They felt almost therapeutic.

More food to make the pain feel almost, exciting, fascinating, interesting, stimulating. Ivan thoughts went into odd places that he never thought possible. More food. More pain from knowing for a fact he will gain more weight. More, more, more! His thoughts just burst like floodgate long held back. And the next thing Ivan knew, he was back at the refrigerator too, stuffing his face beyond the most uncomfortable limits. These thoughts became mixed with feeling that Ivan hadn't had in a long time. Lust.

Ivan's deep gluttony and lust just smashed together in his head, the pain of his stomach, the pleasure of the flavors dancing on his tongue as he swallowed everything in almost one bite like a damn snake. What do you even call this feeling? He was embarrassed, aroused and stuffed all at the same time. After this colossal binge finally settled down to nothing but empty boxes, bags and a pathetic looking fridge, Ivan felt like he would split in two he was so stuffed.

The Russian sank to the floor and laid down. All he could do is moan and groan while lying flat on the floor, his stomach bulging out of place. Ivan hasn't eaten that much in since he was a child. Even then never close to the extent.

For some odd reason he was not just ecstatic to be this full or to swear off diets themselves. Oh no, Ivan was aroused to be this full. This feeling of sex mixed with food was new and strange. He tried to let out a small groan of pain but it oddly twisted into a moan of pleasure, much to his embarrassment. He thought about his best friend, the one he had such a crush on, just watching him pig out like a damn fool. It was kind of a nice, sultry thought that Ivan had while trying to soothe his stomach pain by rubbing it in small circles.

Confused? Why yes this Russian was, but he was not complaining about it.


End file.
